


And A Bottle Of Rum

by bouncingclowns



Category: Dynasty (TV 2017)
Genre: Blake Carrington makes eggnog, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, F/F, Fluff, HAHAHA IM FUNNY, I'm Bad At Tagging, a little smutty but not really, it's cute ok, its sweet you'll like it, this is just cute and christmasy, trust me you'll like it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21960088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bouncingclowns/pseuds/bouncingclowns
Summary: I’m in the holiday spirit and also want a girlfriend so here have a Firby Christmas One-Shot!In which Kirby calls Fallon a lesbian, and ... well ...
Relationships: Kirby Anders/Fallon Carrington
Comments: 4
Kudos: 52





	And A Bottle Of Rum

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all like this! I thought it was kinda sweet and fluffy. I've been writing so much angst it was nice to do something else and give these gals a break hehe.  
> Tumblr: liz-egan-gillies.tumblr.com xoxo  
> Happy holidays!

Carrington Manor looks like it's been thrown up on by Father Christmas. Kirby’s fingers trace the tinsel-wrapped banister as she descends the stairway. There’s something sort of … _breathtaking_ about the frivolity of it all, if she’s being honest. The mansion is decked in red bows and silver ornaments, and there’s the faint tinkering of what she can only describe as the elevator music equivalent of the greatest holiday hits. It’s beautiful, yes, but she can’t help it think that its a little impersonal as well.

The living room is empty when she rounds the corner, but the fireplace paints the room in a warm glow. Kirby’s eyes flick to the coffee table, where she sees a full array of cookies and desserts, and most importantly eggnog. She pours herself a glass, inhaling the aroma of cinnamon and whiskey.

“Good to see you’ve made yourself at home.” Fallon’s voice makes her choke on the sip she’s taking. “Oh please don’t let me interrupt. _This_ is supposed to be for the party later, but by all means. Can I get you anything else? A shot of tequila? Some pie? The keys to the city?”

It’s harmless banter, Kirby knows that, but it doesn’t stop the color from rising in her cheeks. Kirby stares the other woman dead in the eyes, gulping the last of her drink and placing her crystal cup on the table. Fallon shifts a little when the redhead brings a finger to the corner of her lips and wipes away the excess.

“I think I’m good, actually. Thanks though.” Kirby smirks, and Fallon roles her eyes.

In her plaid mini skirt, turtleneck, and boots (all of which she’s almost positive she bought at H&M), Kirby feels underdressed compared to the brunette. Fallon is adorned in a sleek back pantsuit with a gold, silk tunic. The blouse is tied at the neckline into a bow, but the rest of it flows and billows, and it might be a little sheer, but she doesn’t let herself stare long enough to find out. Kirby recognizes the outfit immediately from Yve Saint Laurent’s holiday line. The brunette’s curls are pinned into a messy bun at the back of her head, and her makeup is lightly and glowy, and lacking the red lip that is usually quintessential to any ensemble Fallon wears. It’s more androgynous than she’s seen Fallon look.

She likes it.

“Trying to give your dad a heart attack?” Kirby gestures to the outfit, imagining the senior member of the family walking in the door to find her dressed like … _this_.

Fallon roles her eyes, but Kirby can’t help but notice the way her jaw clenches a little and she clasps her hand in front of her. She smirks. _Did I strike a nerve?_

“Don’t try and turn this on me.” Fallon bites. “ _I’m_ not the one sucking down Daddy’s homemade eggnog like its water. There’s a limited supply of that, you know.”

“I’m just saying, I don’t think Blake will take lightly to his only daughter dressing like a _lesbian_ for the holidays, but hey,” Kirby pours herself another generous glass, sipping it coyly, “what do I know?”

Fallon’s cheeks flush, her blue eyes practically popping out of her head. “I do _not_ look like a —“

She fumbles with her words for a moment, before glancing down at her outfit and omitting a very short groan. Fallon spins on her Louboutin heels, already untying the front of her gold top and sprinting up the stairs. Kirby watches this all in something of a trance, because she _never_ wins arguments between the two of them. Fallon is … how could Kirby put it gently … _a bitch_ … but she’s also incredibly smart, and she knows how to argue (banter is more like it).

“Well are you _coming_?” Fallon calls from the top of the stairs, giving Kirby a look like she’s crazy for not being directly behind her. Kirby’s mouth gapes for a moment, her cheeks going red, and it only makes the brunette role her eyes out of impatience. “Bring the fucking eggnog if you have to, but now I need _help_.”

* * *

Fallon’s room is coated in the same glow as the living room was thanks to her own fireplace being lit, but even warmer with the added effect of her curtains being drawn closed. Her room smells the same as it always does — like lavender and vanilla. Kirby inhales slowly, practically melting into the chair a few paces away from her kingsize bed. Fallon is already in her larger than life closet, tossing the pantsuit and tunic onto the ground as she shimmies her way into a gold, floor length gown. She rounds the corner, giving Kirby an expectant look.

“It’s a little … formal, don’t you think?” Kirby scrunches her nose, crossing her legs and leaning forward a little.

“Well I’m _improvising_ here.” Fallon huffs, already wheeling around to search for something else. “I wasn’t expecting to be called … _you know_.”

Kirby can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of her mouth. “Oh please, like you didn’t see it.” She teases, tossing a few strands of strawberry blonde hair behind her ears.

“Ok, this?” Fallon asks, now in a deep red Marchesa dress.

It’s skintight, and … sweater material, maybe (she can’t tell from where she’s sitting) with a high neckline, and —

“Woah.” Kirby breathes. “Yeah. That. _Definitely_ the one.”

Fallon blushes a little when she feels the other woman’s eyes trailing the length of her form, but she plays it off, waving a hand in the air and turning to look at herself in the mirror.

“It’s _old_.” She dismisses, turning so her body is profiled in the mirror. “If I had _known_ that I was getting my very own yuletide _gaydar_ for Christmas, I would have told my buyer to pick up a few more options.”

Kirby roles her eyes, standing from where she’s perched in her chair and coming up behind the other woman. “If you _really_ wanna lose the gay look, here.”

Her hands are in Fallons hair before she has a chance to pull away or even protest, the redhead’s fingers making quick work of the bobby pins that are keeping it back. Her curls fall around her face slowly, delicately, and she blushes. Fallon tucks a few wisps behind her ear, averting her gaze from an enamored Kirby.

“Better?” Fallon rasps, hating the way her breath catches in her throat when she inhales Kirby’s familiar rose perfume.

“I wouldn’t approach you at a bar, if that’s what you’re asking.” Kirby muses, and for the first time notices how close she’s standing to the other woman.

Fallon quirks an eyebrow, eyes glinting. “I don’t believe you.”

The redhead’s cheeks flush, and she laughs softly. “Probably wise.” She admits.

Kirby studies her carefully, electricity buzzing in her ears. It’s the gentlest she’s seen Fallon look maybe ever, but at the very _least_ since they were kids — the light makeup from her first ensemble still affords her a natural glow, and her curls are unkempt and a little wild, and she doesn’t realize that her fingers are touching the other woman’s hip until —

“Kirby…?”

“Sorry. Oh … _sorry_.” She pulls her hand back like she’s worried she’s burned her.

Fallon doesn’t acknowledge the apology, just continues to watch her with the same, inquisitive, dare Kirby say _curious_ gaze. The redhead considers taking a step back to allow them both some air (Kirby thinks Fallon might be holding her breath, and she _knows_ she’s holding her own), but something intrinsic keeps her planted firmly where she is.

“You didn’t bring the eggnog.” Fallon hums, never losing the other woman’s eyes.

“I didn’t feel like unleashing the wrath of Blake Carrington.” Kirby muses. “I heard that _Crampus_ movie was based off of him.”

It elicits a giggle from the brunette, and Kirby’s heart flutters out of satisfaction. Fallon tosses a few pieces of hair over her shoulder, which spreads the scent of her lilac and primrose shampoo throughout the space between them. Its intoxicating — certainly more so than the insanely potent eggnog that’s waiting for them downstairs — enough to make Kirby return her fingers gently to the woman’s hip.

The faint thrum of jazzy Christmas music playing downstairs fills the silence they find themselves in. Fallon looks at her like she’s about to jump out of her skin, and it makes the redhead grin.

“What?” She challenges, her curiosity quickly giving way to embarrassment, because she’s almost positive its about her in some way.

“You’re so _nervous_.” Kirby teases, which only makes the brunette’s cheeks grow pinker.

“I am _not_!” Fallon whines, slapping the other woman on the arm softly.

The redhead takes a step closer (which … she honestly didn’t know was possible based on the already limited space between them), slipping her arm around Fallon’s waist, and pretending she doesn’t hear the soft, unintentional squeak it evokes from her.

“Prove it.” It’s meant to be flirtatious, and maybe even a little knowing, but it strikes more as a mumbled plea.

Fallon’s eyes close, her breath slowing almost to a full stop, as she places a hand delicately on Kirby’s forearm, and …

_Oh._

Kirby’s lips taste like whiskey and cinnamon. The kiss is delicate, if not a little hesitant at first, but as she gains confidence that she actually … _really likes this_ , it grows in intensity. Fallon’s hands come to play with the hair at the point where her head meets her neck, and it makes Kirby moan softly. She bites her lip with just enough pressure, bringing her other arm around the brunettes waist and pulling her in so that they are flush against one another. She starts pushing the brunette backwards towards the bed, and can’t help but smile into the kiss when she realizes that her eyes aren’t _open_ , so she has no _clue_ where she’s going.

Kirby thinks its a miracle when she feels Fallon trip onto her back, landing onto the plush mattress with a soft giggle. She lands on top of her, and deepens the kiss without missing a beat. Part of her is scared that if she stops, the brunette will change her mind, or that she’ll wake up to this all being a figment of her imagination. The former of the two options _does_ give her a moment for pause, and she starts to break away to _ask_ if she’s ok with it, but Fallon just grips her sweater at the base of her spine and pulls her back down again.

“Jesus.” Kirby breaths into the kiss, noting the way the other woman’s fingers have slipped underneath her sweater and are tracing up the length of her back.

Fallon hums softly, kissing the redhead like _oxygen_ isn’t a thing she needs to … you know … _live_. Kirby doesn’t care — she could never breath again and be happy, because this … this was … _holy shit this is really happening_.

The thought is cut short as _It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year_ comes blasting through the sound system in her room. Fallon shrieks, pushing Kirby off of her, who lands with a thud on the floor at the base of the bed. The music dies quickly, followed by a muffled apology from a maid somewhere downstairs. Kirby hoists herself off the ground, coming to sit next to the brunette where she’s perched on her bed. They look at each other for the first time since they’d started kissing, and …

Fallon laughs, and it catches the redhead off guard, because it’s not a giggle, its a _laugh_ — real, and honest, and amicable. Kirby beams, watching the way the brunettes cheeks press upwards in an easy grin, and lacing her fingers through her’s.

“Some timing, huh?” Fallon quips, still a little short of breath from the mixture of laughing proceeded by a relatively intense make out session.

“You can say that again.”

The brunette sighs, standing off the bed and pulling Kirby by the hand as she does. “We should probably go downstairs.” She whispers, kissing the other woman quickly again before giving herself a final glance in the mirror.

She looks … a little disheveled, but assumes her father will already be too drunk to notice a couple of curls out of place. Kirby watches her dumbly, wondering if its worth it for her to also check her reflection when she knows for a fact that however she looks will never come close to the appearance of the perfectly put together brunette. The _same_ brunette she’d just been kissing, and might’ve gone further with were it not for Andy Williams being blasted over the stereo at the most _inopportune time_.

“So much for looking like a lesbian, huh?” Kirby teases, her heart fluttering when its met by a coy smile from the other woman.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Fallon coos, blowing her one last kiss, before rounding the corner out into the hallway, leaving Kirby in her wake.


End file.
